Too Far Gone
by sunrisetillsunset
Summary: WIP. Harry has reached a point where he feels he is too far gone to save anyone, including himself. Post Hogwards, non epilogue compliant details later , HPxDM. Rated M for future chapters.
1. Prelude

It wasn't how he imagined it

It wasn't how he imagined it. The stories circulating about what death felt like were highly sensationalized and very different from the true sensation. There was no darkening of his vision as though a curtain was draping itself on his life force, but rather a general distortion and blur, much the same as falling asleep. It was as if the shapes in the world around him were blending and merging together to form one indistinguishable figure.

The truth of death's finality was expressed most poignantly in it's own singular thought. _I am going to die._ Even as he accepted and believed this outcome the past few weeks blazed across the haze of his surroundings almost as though he was watching a very fast paced and out of focus slideshow.

He could see her last smile fade in the same manner as his godfather's, falling from her face with her laughter still ringing the air. He could see his children forcibly disapparating from their home. It had all happened just as fast and unimaginably real as this death induced reincarnation. Trying to force his final thoughts to be of a happier nature he firmly dismissed these flashes as a side effect of his own incantations.

It was merely the effects of the spell playing on the innate qualities of the Impermeable Death potion he had taken. Rationalizing the necessity of using two magical methods of killing, Harry found the final thought he wished to die with. Ginny's touch.

It has always calmed him and assuaged his nerves. After Dumbledore's death it had brought him from the brink of delirium safely back to reality. Knowing that he would never feel the warmth of her skin, pulling him to safety, caressing him in love almost broke his peaceful reminisence. However, he held on to the almost tangible feeling of a palm held firmly over his heart.

He had felt her hand there so often before, a constant reminder that someone knew him and was capable of loving him for being more than the Savior of the Wizarding World. More often than he had realized it had pulled him from the same place he had been since the war. Now the absence seemed deadly.

Harry's thoughts were drifting now while he lost focus and slipped from life's firm grasp. He was floating back to that forsaken war. The time in his life when he had known so much fleeting happiness, grief, and anger. It was the only time in his life anyone but Ginny had reached out and touched his heart, firmly grounding his senses.

_I must be close to death now,_ Harry thought almost sarcastically, _I'm imagining Narcissa Malfoy touching my chest._ However, the firmer Harry's belief that he had indeed reached a level of hallucination the stronger the strain on his chest seemed to become. He could feel the same searching hand creep over his skin in search of his heartbeat. It seemed the hand was ragged from age or something else and almost desperate to find a pulse, possibly in search of another query to which Harry had no answer this time.

When he felt his eyelid pulled open this time, it was not to see Narcissa Malfoys slender and aged face, but rather Draco Malfoy's pointed and unexpected visage traipsed through Harry's vision. And the question of life was not so much a question nor did it regard another person.

Harry heard a simple statement issued from Malfoy's lips before the cliché curtain finally made an appearance. "You will not die on me Potter."


	2. St Mungos

Harry could feel his chest as it rose and fell in a sickeningly rhythmic manner

18/06/2008 20:24:00

Harry could feel his chest as it rose and fell in a sickeningly rhythmic manner. There was no explanation except that he was in hell, and hell resembled being alive. He tried to expel the fear that he was still living from his frenzied mind, but the idea clung to him as though it were statically charged.

It was impossible despite the evidence. He couldn't still be breathing this regularly with the amount of care he had taken to ensure his death. Unreal as it seemed to his mind, every other part of his body felt the renewed life surging through it. He was laying, as if it were possible to do anything else in his weakened condition, on a very soft and warm bed. If he had the resolve to test his reendowed life by flexing his muscles, he would have found them sore and shaky.

As it was, Harry stretched out to the room with his senses that weren't burdened with fatigue. He began to hear a resolute and unyielding ticking noise clicking away with as much metronomic precision as his heart. He could smell the characteristic fragrance of a room that was cleaned regularly with harsh chemicals, something he attributed exclusively to his Aunts kitchen that could host any surgery with no possibility of post-op infection.

A terrifying idea slammed against the back of Harry's eyelids forcing them to open. He was so certain he knew what hell he was going to awake in that for a moment his heart failed to believe his eyes. Instead of resting on his over small bed in Number 4 Private Drive above Petunia's obsessively clean kitchen as Harry had dared believe his living hell, he instead saw a small bubble of light meandering around his ceiling.

It took his eyes a moment to register their lack of focus before Harry sat up in his bed to search for his glasses. He needed to figure out where he was and what he was doing there. Beyond confusion was the stubborn belief that he was the only one who should be aloud to decide when he would die. If he hadn't been able to succeed no one else was going to get the better of him at this moment.

It was now that his time living as the hunted Chosen One came in handy as the inordinate amount of survival skills he had learned flooded through his system. Harry cast a nonverbal and wandless lumos to aid the search for his glasses only to be stopped dead by the second surprising sight to hit his undead retinas.

He was staring at a very fuzzy visage of Draco Malfoy in the distant wandlight and indistinguishable overhead light. The other young man was barely a foot away from his bed and seemed just as surprised to see him sitting up, as Harry was to see him at all. Before Harry could dislodge the lump in his throat at the curious situation, Malfoy's imperious tone conquered the silence.

"Here." A blurred arm extended itself within inches of Harry's face holding his glasses. Guarded against the possibility that this was still a living hell Harry took the glasses with an almost comedic struggle with his own hands and placed them on his face, finally realizing how sore his entire body was.

"I shall return momentarily with a mediwizard." Malfoy stated as he drew level with the door. "Do not move," he added in a tone that Harry could only consider a throwback to Snape.

Too startled and sore to move, Harry sat there in the semi-darkness in mild shock. Harry's eyes traversed the room in the dim light. He mentally noted that the floating light he had seen moving back and forth when he first opened his eyes was a bunch of candles in an enchanted sphere. _St. Mungos then,_ Harry concluded. It seemed that the sphere had followed Malfoy to the door and remained hovering there like a puppy waiting for its master to return.

Harry had barely begun contemplating the idea that Malfoy had been pacing, trailed by his candle sphere lantern when the blond reentered the room with a new puppy trailing him. This one dressed in green Mediwizard robes and carrying a clipboard loaded with parchment and vials.

As the mediwizard entered a few more of the candled spheres sprang to life around the room. Harry entertained himself with the thought that the light in the room was now strangely similar to his dorm room in Gryffindor Tower at sunrise. The warmth of the new light was quickly dowsed however, by the second emission from Malfoy's mouth.

"This is Partik. He is the primary mediwizard on your case."

"What case," Harry breathed in retaliation to Malfoy's determined air. He had no intention of being studied or fixed. "This isn't necessary. I'm perfectly healthy. And–"

"Yes, you're perfectly healthy. _Now_." Malfoy stated categorically, cutting off Harry's rant before it began. "And if you weren't I'd be very upset with the standards of mediwizard training. However, as it stands, I am thinking about making a large donation to this fine establishment."

Harry recognized the idea that a generous donation from the Malfoy estate would be in excess of anything the facility had received in over a century and that they truly were deserving of it. His spellwork in combination with one of the darkest potions in existence should have made it impossible for anyone to save him at all. Yet here he was.

Now that he thought about the situation Harry felt a sinking in his chest. Although the tight constriction he felt had little to do with gratitude for the advanced nature of mediwizard training and rather a lot to do with the healers themselves. He knew that his healers must have worked very hard to save the life he had tried so desperately to give up.

Almost as soon as he felt the sadness fill his heart again his mind erupted with anger. _Noone asked these stupid healers to save me. Maybe Malfoy asked, _Harry admitted begrudgingly to himself. _But nobody who has above normal intelligence at least._ Slowly Harry pulled his mind back to his surroundings and was not surprised to find that his head mediwizard was halfway through explaining his extensive medical treatment.

"… there is also a possibility of a negative side effect forming about two weeks after the first treatment of _Anima Audax_ that varies for each patient. However, it is the most potent energy restorer known to exist and the side effect has never been critical, most often in the form…"

Harry tried valiantly to listen to his healer, but could not stop his own personal Wrakspurt from derailing his thoughts once more. His eyes had just found the quick quotes notepad and furiously scribbling green quill that was dancing upon it. Knowing that the writer didn't have to invest much attention to a well-trained quick quotes quill his eyes shifted to see what Malfoy was doing.

To Harry's increasing surprise and frustration, the blonde was looking right back at him as though he was the only thing in the room. For a moment it seemed as though neither man possessed the ability to blink as they stared at each other. Then, just as swiftly as Malfoy had fetched the mediwizard, Partik excused himself to see another patient. Leaving behind the prescribed potions and medications on the table nearest the bed, it wasn't until the door shut with a resounding thud that Harry broke eye contact with Malfoy.

"Err," Harry began, unsure himself what he wanted to say. He couldn't exactly yell at Malfoy when he felt so guilty about the situation, yet he wanted to take the enormous amount of frustration he felt out on something. So, instead of finishing any complete sentence, he started picking at the non-existent lint on his bed covers.

"I suspect you will be needing these." Malfoy's tone was as imperceptible as Harry could predict anything ever sounded as the blond once again stretched an arm towards him. This time, with his glasses in place, he could see the long fingers holding the pad of medical notes and knew immediately that it wasn't age that had made the man's hands feel rough and ragged. His hands seemed to have calluses and were even bruised in places.

Taking the offered notes, Harry placated his blossoming curiosities with the knowledge that, even if he were to let loose a barrage of questions on the man even now retracting his arm, he would receive no substantial answers. Instead he decided the best policy was his familiar territory of angry and brooding silence wherein he fumed about the most likely down to the least probable explanations of his current situation.

As soon as Harry decided not to ask anything of Malfoy regarding his hand or the reason he saved Harry, the blond spoke. It was perhaps the gentlest Draco Malfoy's voice had ever sounded to Harry. Even when he had been crying to Moaning Myrtle his voice had been tinged with regret and loathing. Now however he sounded as though he truly was sorry for something.

"I do not pretend to be as perceptive as Dumbledore was. I, therefore, cannot begin to guess what you may wish to say to me. The only thing I can tell you for certain at the moment is that anything you have prepared to abuse my ears with will have to wait until tomorrow. Please check the first line of those notes." Malfoy said as he walked a half circle around Harry's bed to the table housing all the bottled medications the mediwizard had left.

Harry read aloud, "Peaceful dreams tonight Potter." Before he had time to question Malfoy regarding how he had his quick quotes quill trained he felt a pressure on his chest. For the second time Harry felt Malfoy's hand covering his heart. This time however it seemed the intention of its owner was to force Harry onto his back.

Not having the muscle strength to resist he felt his head fall onto the accommodating pile of pillows resting behind him. As he opened his mouth to protest Malfoy's delinquent treatment of the injured it was filled with a coolingly warm liquid. Almost as soon as he registered the fact that Malfoy was still resting his open hand on his chest his eyes flickered closed and Harry was asleep.


	3. Pillows

In the chasm that formed between dreams and wakefulness Harry saw her again

05/07/2008 18:15:00

In the chasm that formed between dreams and wakefulness Harry saw her again. Her hand outstretched, coaxing him forward. He was sitting up in bed, his own arm reaching for a phantom, before his eyes focused on reality and he found himself surprised by what he beheld. After shaking off the hauntings of his dream, Harry surveyed his surroundings.

He was sitting in an overlarge and very soft four-poster bed with way too many pillows. Even as Harry calculated there to be more pillows in this bed than in the whole of Grimmauld Place he saw even more discarded pillows on the highly polished hardwood floor. Laughing silently at this sight his eyes moved around the room once more attempting to find an indication of who St. Mungo's had entrusted him to for the next few weeks.

He remembered, with a pang of regret, the first time he had learned of St. Mungo's Caregiver Policy. Ginny had come home in a whirl of her own healer robes with hundreds of stories of how her training had been going. He was so tired from his own Auror training at the time that he had felt nothing but irritation at her constant chatter and now could only remember a few brief snatches of her excitement.

In the strange and pillow-filled room her voice came back to Harry's ears "And if someone has been prescribed more than five potions they're assigned a Caregiver who has proven an understanding and competency for…." He shook off the ghost of her voice. Reasoning with himself that he was only thinking of her because he had been forced into St. Mungo's unceremoniously and even unconsciously Harry's epiphany struck at the same moment the door opened.

"Good afternoon." The voice confirmed Harry's dreaded conclusion that Draco Malfoy had been assigned to be his caregiver. "I am surprised to see you awake. How are you feeling."?

Still reeling from the unexpected situation he found himself in, Harry could not answer Malfoy.

"You're going to have to answer me one of these days you know," Malfoy said conversationally as he approached Harry, "or you're going to give the impression that my presence renders you speechless."

"Git." Harry finally managed, noticing that Malfoy was again within arm's reach, and decided he should elaborate since he finally found his voice. "Why did you put me through all of this?" Harry asked, hoping even more than he realized for whole and truthful answers to every question his overactive mind was producing.

"I am afraid you cannot let loose your rage on me, Potter," and the acrid and sardonic tones left Harry little hope that he would get any answers from Malfoy. Before Harry had time to demand to be taken back to St. Mungo's, far far away from Malfoy Manor, Malfoy finished his statement, "for the situation we find ourselves in. However, if your _recovery_ is not satisfactory, that I believe you can blame me for."

Harry's mind latched onto two ideas simultaneously and by the time he had sorted them out two more questions to pose to Malfoy had formed. He raised his head, dragging his eyes from the floor pillows to find Malfoy sitting silently at the window. The blond man seemed to be contemplating a bird that was walking along the hedges.

"Was there something else, perhaps more pertinent you wanted to ask me now," Malfoy started, letting his attention shift back to Harry "or were you just going to stare again."

"Well, er, why did you agree to be my Caregiver? I know there are other people who wouldn't think of me as a burden who could do it instead." The distance between them seemed to eat up Harry's question because the room was momentarily engulfed in silence. Changing tactics slightly since he wanted so desparately to know the answer that Malfoy didn't find necessary to answer, Harry tried provoking his silent companion in the pillow-filled room.

"If you're doing this as a publicity stunt or political move you should know it won't work. And in case you haven't noticed, the war is old news now. The wizarding world no longer needs a teenage figure head to rally behind." Harry didn't even register the fact that he had stood up and was now pacing, but instead got a second wind and continued what seemed to be a failing attempt to raise Malfoy's temper.

Indeed as Harry continued with his tirade Malfoy chuckled silently. "I doubt that after what I did they'll let me work at the Ministry anymore, so you wont have a pet to work for you or do your biddings around there. So helping me isn't helping you any."

"Why are you doing all this?" No longer yelling Harry flung himself back on the bed so he was sitting facing the same window Malfoy's eyes had recently scanned. Having lost all his steam and feeling more frustrated with Malfoy than ever before Harry didn't hear Malfoy approach his bed.

The blond man standing directly in front of Harry was no longer chuckling to himself but seemed almost somber. "I wish you had asked about your recovery plan first. And even though you didn't, I think I'll tell you what I have planned before I answer the question you posed."

Malfoy's intensity exerted a tangible effect on the atmosphere and Harry almost felt like he would need every pillow in the room to put between them to block out the stare he was getting. He had never truly seen Malfoy's eyes this close and whatever Harry was about to hear would be easier to take if only he didn't have to listen while watching those eyes.

"We will, of course, follow all your prescribed medications, however there is an addition to your recovery I believe the mediwizards were unable to advise on that will prove necessary." Malfoy hesitated for a moment before he set his expression even firmer and continued speaking. His voice barely above a whisper, as though afraid his walls had ears, Malfoy leaned in and said, "I will help you catch your wife's murderer."

"What?" Shocked more by the way Malfoy was treating the subject than by the idea itself Harry was momentarily free of the deadly stare of Malfoy's eyes. "Of course her killer will be caught," and not wanting to think of the possible reasons for Malfoy's behavior added, "and turned over to the Ministry for proper punishment."

As though the topic had been discussed fully and at length, Malfoy merely tossed a paper into Harry's lap and said, almost dejectedly, "Well, I'll let you relax for a bit before I answer your original question."

As Malfoy left the room Harry's anger at Malfoy swelled again. Outrage worked its way through every vein in his body as he thought of Malfoy's behavior. Why would he want to catch, and presumably use his own magic to punish, his wife's killer? And why in the hell did Malfoy think that he could relax after standing that close and looking so intense and not having the decency to answer Harry's only real question.

It took a minute for Harry to realize that he was literally shaking with rage. After realizing that he couldn't stand being around Malfoy even for a day, Harry decided to go back to St. Mungo's and demand another Caregiver be assigned. However, as green eyes sought his hands to see if their shaking was visible, they caught sight of the paper that had been crumpled between them and recognition drifted to the only part of Harry's mind that wasn't occupied with anger.

He was holding today's Daily Prophet and, after another jolt in his heart, the face on the cover looked up and smiled again. He was watching a picture of Ginerva Weasely successfully completing a complicated healing spell on a scared Muggle and the resultant joy as she looked up from her charge.

Harry was sure that the story below detailed the life of a Hogwarts student who survived the war, married the Chosen One and became an instant success in the world of Healing. He found himself scanning the article as something to do while his limbs regained feeling.

Halfway down the second column however, a name brought Harry's full attention to the wrinkled paper in his hands. It was not the name of any single person, but a name that brought anger again to the forefront of his mind, this time accompanied by a surge of denial. It was not possible, all of them had been caught and imprisoned and punished. There were no more Death Eaters at large.


	4. Regrets

Harry wretched open the door of the pillow laden room to begin a search for Malfoy and had to sidestep a floating tray laden wi

07/07/2008 11:14:00

This chapter is named both for Harry's regrets and my own. Harry's are hopefully obvious in this chapter (if not feel free to ask me). Mine however are more hidden. I regret that this is so late—it should have been posted much, much earlier. Also, I regret that nothing I would have wished for happened in this chapter. Which includes your desires as well; I'm sorry there's no smexy boyXboy action yet. Also, its just long and boring. :-( I'm so sorry. Don't be disappointed the next chapter will be better!!

--

Harry wretched open the door of the pillow-laden room to begin a search for Malfoy and had to sidestep a floating tray laden with food and tea. Assuming it was another of the stupid prats relaxation ideas, Harry started walking up the corridor on his right. He was only three steps away from the door he so recently slammed open when a squeaking voice let him know the tray was not holding itself in midair.

"Master wishes his guest to eat something after he has had his evening potions. Please take this," the house elf piped as she set her burden down and raised a phial off the mirrored surface of the tray. "Master also wishes Mimo to take his guest to him after his potion and snack are gone. So please hurry. Master seems most anxious today."

Knowing that Malfoy would be damn near impossible to find on his own, and that it would take much longer than simply taking his medicine, Harry gulped down the potion, threw back a few gulps of tea and bites of toast and held out his hand to the elf. "Take me to him." No sooner had his hand connected with Mimo's than Harry found himself dragged through the tight constriction of apparation.

Once Harry had taken a deep breath he opened his eyes to find himself in what was clearly Malfoy's study. Books lined the walls on every side and an ornate and unnecessarily large desk sat directly opposite the door. Malfoy was sitting in a chair that matched the desk in every respect and looked up at the taller of the room's new occupants.

Harry had planned on yelling at and punching this person. Indeed he still harbored a childish desire akin to throwing a temper tantrum. The urges he felt now included kicking and screaming at the person who had given him the information he was now clutching in his left hand. But as he looked into those severe and determined eyes he found his desire to inflict harm lacking. Now all that registered in his mind was his desperate need for understanding.

All ability Harry possessed to think coherently and understand the situation in the moment had fled with the last echo of Ginny's laugh. Allowing himself to think critically about the situation for the first time in days, Harry found it necessary to explain.

"It all happened so fast. Ginny being killed. And then they took the kids. I knew, I just knew they would hold them for a ransom I would not be able to give. Then the patronas came. And I didn't want to chance having my boys hurt because of my inabilities. I thought that having me out of the way, the people who took them would be forced to give up on their plan and just let the kids go."

Even as he vocalized this small fraction of the night Ginny died, Harry's mind faltered and he fell quite, thinking about what happened next. He had thought it through, and at the time his death seemed to be the only answer. The patronos that had delivered the ransom would not be traceable by any magic he knew. They had told him he was under more kinds of surveillance than he knew existed, including every type of Muggle spying as well. He was supposed to get the Minister of Magic under an Imperius curse and then wait for their next message.

Slowly his attention returned to the study he currently occupied with Malfoy and Mimo. The house-elf seemed engrossed with removing an invisible stain from the carpet. As Harry watched Mimo's efforts to clean a clean carpet Malfoy cleared his throat and began to speak, pulling Harry from his bemused reverie.

His tone was measured and his voice unshaking, but there was an air of hesitancy in what Malfoy said. "I cannot begin to imagine or contemplate the reasons, or lack thereof, that led you to believe that giving up your life would save your children. However, I understand the desire to protect them at all costs."

Harry did not miss the strength of conviction behind Malfoy's last sentence, but decided against interrupting to ask questions while the young man seated behind the desk was clearly intent upon saying more. Malfoy seemed ready, finally, to answer Harry's earlier question of why he was helping.

"Why don't you take a seat Potter?" Malfoy stated, while gesturing smoothly to a comfortable looking armchair. Harry immediately did just that, recognizing now how tired he was still feeling. "I take it you read the article." Harry nodded curtly and locked gazes with Malfoy over the desk.

"Is that why you're helping me? Because it was one of your friends who attacked." Harry couldn't help but lace his accusation with a large heaping of scorn. He should have seen through Malfoy's intentions. Harry should have know that Draco Malfoy was not really interested in catching Ginny's murderer. But instead relying on his actions to demonstrate further his professed change of heart.

To Harry's utter amazement and shock Malfoy merely nodded his head solemnly before a deadly silence filled the air. Harry instantly wondered where his wand had been stowed and if he could retrieve it from wherever it was with a Summoning Charm. Before he had the chance to try Malfoy began speaking again, with the same intense look in his stormy grey eyes as Harry had seen earlier in the bedroom.

"I do not deny that I was once friends with the people who acted in this situation. However, it is necessary for you to understand the current situation. Will you allow me to, lets say, tell you the story?" The fact that Malfoy asked for permission in such a manner sent a strong surge of hesitation through Harry's veins.

Suspecting strongly that he would regret his assent in the not so distant future Harry allowed his head to tip down and raise back up to gaze level at the promise of answers in Malfoy's eyes.

"Mimo." The call was clear and louder than Harry thought necessary to rouse the elf from her unnecessary examination of the like-new carpeting. When he shifted his green eyes to watch the house-elf totter forward he understood Malfoy's volume. Mimo had disappeared sometime during the young men's brief interchange.

In the same moment Harry realized he had shared a room amicably with Malfoy the elf returned. Realization struck Harry then, as his eyes focused on the burden Mimo held above her head in a similar fashion to Harry's snack tray. His epiphany struck with such force that, if he had not already been sitting comfortably on Malfoy's luxurious furniture, his knees would have buckled at the sight of the pensive.

Harry was right. He regretting assenting to any unknown factor presented by Malfoy. The young man's green eyes were suddenly buried behind eyelids and palms. He was trying desperately to wish away the scene that was haunting him now. His last experience with a pensive. Seeing a woman he loved, whom he had lost forever, experience pain. Knowing he would not be able to do anything for her now or ever again.

Shaking his head slowly, forcing his thoughts back to the present, Harry considered what Malfoy might want to show him. Certainly it wouldn't be anything similar to the dying memories of Severus Snape. His wife had never been close to Malfoy. So why was he dreading a living memory? Was it only because it would be from Malfoy's mind. Was Harry nervous to experience even a minute from the boy's life that seemed diametrically opposed to his own? Or was he honestly scared that he would see Ginny in pain?

Knowing only that he would never know for certain until he was willing to try, Harry let his hands drop into his lap and his eyelids flicker open. Meeting the still determined grey eyes Harry pleaded with his eyes in a look he hoped would convey his hesitancies.


End file.
